


Last Friday Night

by summercarntspel



Category: Glee, Glee RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, One Night Stands, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-14 00:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2171235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/summercarntspel/pseuds/summercarntspel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Chris, a semi-famous author, and Darren, an off-Broadway star, wake up next to each other after a fuzzy night of heavy drinking at a nightclub, some interesting situations transpire... Especially when they find themselves attracted to the other, even when sober.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Friday Night

Author: summercarntspel  
Warnings: RPF and mentions of sex and AU with author!chris and theater!darren and mentions of alcohol and one night stands... and cuteness. I promise there's cuteness.  
Pairing: Crisscolfer (Darren Criss/Chris Colfer)  
Disclaimer: I do not own these young men or Glee or anything like that, sadly, so do not worry!

 

~~~~~

 

The first thing Chris realized when his bleary eyes flickered open was what a terrible idea it was for them to do such a thing.

Oh God. What _happened_ last night?

He felt that horrific throbbing in his temples, the erratic beat pounding against his skull, and he felt sore all over. His stomach was doing nauseating flips and what kind of sick psycho thought it would be okay to run him over with a truck and then shove a mountain of cotton balls into his mouth?

And, as Chris continued to blink in a futile attempt at clearing his swimmy vision, he realized just why his eyes were so irritated. He had left his contacts in all night, and, even though it wouldn't cause any permanent damage, it still wasn't advised to do that.

Fuck, how drunk had he been?

Without even trying to think through the pounding in his head, Chris got to his feet shakily, wobbling in place and clutching his head as he padded to the en suite bathroom blindly. It was a good thing his knew his apartment like the back of his hand...

He popped out his contacts and sighed with relief, fumbling for his glasses and sliding them on before he stumbled over to the toilet, deciding to release the urgent pressure he was suddenly aware of in his bladder. Sighing again as he flushed, he kept his eyes mostly shut as he washed his hands and wobbled back to his bedroom, intending to just sleep off the awful punishment from the hangover gods.

When he finally did flop onto the bed, he felt a decidedly warm lump under him and heard a pained grunt. In a fit of absolute terror, he jumped back to his feet, suddenly fretting about having to perform some sort of extremely embarrassing version of the walk of shame before he realized, with a relieved exhale, that he was in his own apartment... But that still didn't explain the body-shaped lump under his blankets and snuffling into his pillow.

Squeezing his eyes shut and clenching his jaw, Chris felt the flood of hazy memories from the night before pour over him. He vaguely wondered if someone slipped something into his drink at the club, but then some of the fog cleared and he ruled that possibility out.

He remembered... Kind of. He remembered being stressed about writing a chapter he was getting nowhere with and his editor kept texting him about it and the publisher demanded the book be finished within the month and everything got so overwhelming that Chris actually started to sob pathetically.

Then, out of a desire to rebel against the people he thought of as authority figures, he decided to go out for the rest of the night. So, after a quick shower to remove the day and a half of grime and a shave to get rid of the peach-fuzz-slash-stubble that had grown on his upper lip and jaw area, he pulled on a simple button-up, his tightest pair of jeans, and headed for the nearest night club.

And, in New York City, there was always a night club nearby.

Everything after the cab ride was a blur... He idly remembered taking several shots and dancing and some really hot guy flirting and buying him drinks and grinding with him on the dance floor...

_Oh, fuck._

Glancing down, Chris nearly yelped in surprise at what he saw. How had he not noticed the fact that he was totally naked? And, more importantly, how had he missed the red-purple bruise _right beside his left nipple?_

Blushing, Chris turned to glance at the sleeping form beside him. All that was visible of the body was the tips of his toes where one foot stuck out from under the tangled covers and dark, messy curls against the pillow, but Chris vaguely remembered his face and his gorgeous body.

What he couldn't remember so easily, sadly, was the guy's name. David?... Derek?... Daniel?...

Rather than wait until his partner in sexually deviant activities decided to join the land of the living, Chris hesitantly brought his hands down to the lump and shook it gently.

No response.

A bit of a harder shake.

A snort and an attempt to roll away from the annoyance, but no further response.

Finally, getting a little irritated and wanting to just sort this out so he could go back to bed, Chris cleared his throat loudly and shook the lump as hard as he could manage.

The curly-haired man groaned and struggled to sit up as soon as he woke, muttering a few curses and rubbing at his eyes.

Shit, this would be a lot less awful if he wasn't so _attractive..._ Or maybe it would be a lot more awful. Chris really didn't know.

"Um... Hello," Chris greeted, eyes wide behind the frames of his glasses as he stared at the familiar-yet-total-stranger sharing his bed.

"Hi," the other man responded slowly, blinking and tilting his head to the side, gesturing vaguely with his spare hand, "Do you... Am I...?"

"I'm not sure," Chris admitted with a small shrug, biting his lip and trying to collect the few thoughts he could make out through the distinct throbbing still happening inside his skull, "Also, just so you know, I've never had a... You know, a one night stand... Ever. Before this, I mean. So I don't know, uh, standard procedure for this part."

The other man squinted, the smallest hint of a smile on his face before it turned into a pained grimace.

"Me either," he admitted quietly, scrunching his nose up in what appeared to be thought and confusion, "To be honest, I don't even really remember... Forgive me, but remind me of your name?"

Chris felt a strange mix of relief, guilt, and disappointment. Deciding to follow the rule of picking his battles, Chris offered the other man a small smile and a sigh, "Thank God, I thought I was totally alone... I'm, uh, Chris... Chris Colfer, if you care. And you are?"

"Darren Criss..." Darren smiled, a bit of recognition flashing in his warm hazel eyes, "Hey, you're an author, right? You write fairy tales and fantasy novels? You've been mentioned in some of the magazines they have in the dressing rooms."

Chris blushed and nodded, another little smile lighting up his features even as he struggled with the idea of feeling kind of attracted to this guy. "Dressing rooms?"

Darren nodded, running a hand through his messy curls before he looked around a bit, making a pleased sound before he slid his glasses onto his nose. "Yeah... I work in the theater business. Off-Broadway stuff for now, but my agent has me set up for a few auditions in the near future..."

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, then Darren found himself staring at Chris' naked—and  
very, very nice—body until Chris blushed again and tugged a sheet over his lower half.

"I-Uh, sorry..." Darren chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck and squinting at the digital clock on the nightstand, letting out a pained little grunt when focusing increased the intense burst of pain in his head, "I guess this is where I go, right? I mean, I think I should, anyway..."

Chris thought for a moment, then shrugged, sitting back up. "Well... I mean, in most cases, I guess that would be appropriate, but I can't seem to shake the urge to ask you to hang around, if you can. Since we've obviously gotten to know each other in the Biblical sense, the least I can do is make us some coffee and breakfast."

And maybe he shouldn't agree to the suggestion or take Chris up on the offer, but that same something that made Chris ask seemed to make him want to stay, so he bobs his head slowly, grinning like a fool.

Chris grabbed some pajamas to throw on and tossed Darren a shirt and a pair of flannel pants, both of which are soft and supple from being worn for quite some time, and they seem to carry the distinct, warm, happy smell Darren remembered basking the night before.

They headed down the steps, Chris' eyes going comically wide when he finds a pair of boxers—Darren's—on the railing and a pair of dark gray briefs—his—flung over a potted plant next to the stairs.

"We must have been smashed to hell," he muttered, leading the way into the kitchen and deciding the mess could be dealt with after they both get some food into their bodies.

Darren sat down gingerly on one of the stools in the kitchen and immediately blushed when he realized he must have been on the receiving end, but he didn't miss the fact that Chris wriggled uncomfortably as he bent down to grab a pan from the bottom of a cabinet.

"Did we both..." Darren trailed off, chuckling and feeling his face heat up to an even darker red, "Christ, we must have great stamina when we're plastered."

Chris just laughed, surprised by how comfortable he felt around this guy that had pretty much taken advantage of him the previous night. He took advantage of Darren, too, though, so it evened out.

"You like bacon?" Chris asked, digging around his refrigerator and pulling out a package of the meat in question, "Greasy food always helps settle my stomach."

"Yeah... Do you have any Ginger Ale, too? I need something fizzy."

Their light, friendly chattering continued while Chris fried up the entire package of bacon and scrambled them two eggs each, Darren sipping on a can of Ginger Ale while Chris slurped at his Diet Coke through a purple bendy straw.

"Okay, soup's on," Chris chirped teasingly, feeling decidedly less hungover just from the carbonated beverage and the smell of the incredibly delicious and totally unhealthy breakfast foods. Diets be damned, unless it was Diet Coke.

They grabbed plates piled with bacon and eggs and Chris led the way to the living room, plopping on down on the couch and flicking on the television as he propped his feet up on the coffee table, something that Darren quickly mimicked.

"You know," Chris said around a mouthful of bacon, swallowing the bite down with a sip from a new can of Diet Coke, "I can see why drunk me chose to have his way with you."

Darren laughed loudly and heartily at that, shaking his head and setting his plate down on one of the little end tables on either side of the couch. "I was thinking the same thing, you know. Sober me doesn't think he'd ever have a chance with sober you, so drunk you must have felt incredibly sorry and generous."

"Oh, shut up, you're gorgeous," Chris scoffed, blushing as soon as the words left his mouth, slapping a hand across the traitors he called lips, "I-I mean, I didn't..."

"Shh, it's okay," Darren chuckled nervously, carding his fingers through his hair once more, "It's totally okay."

The pair spent the next hour or two on the couch, silent as they watched a marathon of Looney Toons playing on one of the upper channels, only talking during ones they'd both seen a million times and the brief commercial breaks. There were bouts of giggles from both men, making them sound much more like toddlers, and at some point, they had shifted close enough on the couch for Darren's arm to drape comfortably around Chris' shoulders, one of Chris' hands on Darren's knee.

After a jaw-cracking yawn left his body, Darren glanced at the clock on a nearby wall and frowned. He had to be at a rehearsal in just under an hour...

"Hey, I've got to take off for work..." Darren stated glumly, head tipped to the side like a questioning little puppy, "I know this might be kind of weird, but would you mind if I jumped in the shower here? My apartment's across town and with the mid-morning traffic, I'll never make it there and to rehearsals on time."

Chris nodded, lifting his head off Darren's chest, idly wondering when it had ended up there in the first place, and offered to show Darren how the shower in his en suite bathroom worked.

After a short lesson in turning the knobs, Chris walked out of the bathroom, coming back with a fresh pair of jeans, boxers, and one of his shirts for Darren to wear.

"I swear the underwear have never been worn before," Chris explained with a sheepish grin, his nose twitching up, "I got them in a pack and tried the others out, then decided I didn't like boxers... Glad I kept those around, though."

Darren nodded his thanks and smiled again, beginning to strip down as Chris shut the door.

After his shower, Darren found Chris in the kitchen, nursing a coffee mug between his hands and glancing at crossword puzzle in the newspaper, a pen trapped between his lips. The underwear had mysteriously disappeared from the stairs, and the rest of Darren's clothes were nowhere to be found.

"All the clutter was driving me nuts," Chris explained, getting to his feet and setting the writing utensil on the table, "I just tossed everything in the wash. I figured I could give them back when you return my shirt and pants."

Darren nodded, showing off another blinding smile and shaking his head. "You expect me to come back, then?"

"You expect me to just give you my favorite shirt and my second-favorite pair of jeans and not ask for them back?" Chris arched an eyebrow, chuckling when Darren shrugged, "Yes, I expect you to come back."

Darren nodded, ready to head out the door before he was struck with an idea. He grabbed the pen, then took Chris' hand and began scribbling something on his palm, closing Chris' hand when he was finished.

"Don't look until I'm gone," Darren commanded, licking his lips before he pressed a sweet, careful kiss to one of Chris' pinking cheeks, "I've really got to go now, my director will have my ass if I'm late again."

And then he was off, out the door and hailing a cab before Chris could even try to respond.

He opened his hand, his heart fluttering happily as a silly giggle escaped his throat.

There, scrawled on his palm in messy handwriting, was a phone number, followed by a sweet message, all surrounded by a lumpy, lopsided heart.

_"Call me sometime... You know, to plan our clothing exchange, or just to talk._

_-Darren xx_

_P.S. I feel like I should be sorry for what started this._

_P.P.S. I'm totally not sorry at all. Sorry?"_

~~~~~

A/N: FRIENDS I AM SO PLEASED WITH HOW WELL THIS TURNED OUT. I considered making this a one-shot, then thought about having it be a chaptered thing, so I think I may just do that, but your feedback will help with the final decision!


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